


In the Open

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 13:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Wade knows what Nate wants, and trusts him enough to let him take it.(or, 2k of prime bussy indulgence)
Relationships: Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 204





	In the Open

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Privately, Publicly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746482) by [SenkoWakimarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin). 

> It's been over a year since I posted the original fic, "Publicly, Privately", which I wrote in the middle of med withdrawal and a massive migraine, and it shows. I'm going to let the original stay around, because I know a lot of folks like it, presumably because it IS supremely horny, but this is the superior, coherently written edition.

"Ooh, you... you know we really _ shouldn’t_," Wade manages on an exhale, the consonants barely formed. It's a good-ish joke, he figures, given than they're well beyond the point of protest, but he's not exactly in top form, blood that could be powering his brain for better efforts currently occupied keeping him hard as a goddamn rock. "Could still be people... hhnngh..."

His eyes flutter and his mouth drops open, words twisting away into some awful whiny sound as Nathan fucks into him with devastating acuity. He's shimmied as far down the cool plane of the stall door as he can manage without wrenching his arms out of socket, and the contact _ still _ is just not enough. It's killing him, _ killing _him, and Nathan keeps slowing down to this sluggish, evil pace that makes Wade feel full of dick from ass to brains. 

Perfect, torturous, agonizing.

And Nate just clenches harder on the grip he's got of Wade's hips, thumbnail digging in on the side that's human enough to _ have _ a thumbnail. "Good," he rumbles, shoving into Wade with something close to viciousness. Not quite, not ever quite, but close. He's got his shoulders shoved up under Wade's knees, rolling in time with his solid, unshakable pace. "Stay _ still_," he adds with a sharper, rougher thrust, the indignation in his tone so blatantly childish that Wade would laugh if his breath weren't all chopped up and short, carrying all the weak, gaspy noises he knows he shouldn't be making.

Not if he doesn't want the hypothetical people that may or may not still be out in the hallway to hear and come looking, anyway.

"Someone could come in here 'n hear us, see us," he tries, and he knows it's clear to both of them now that his weak protests are more bait than sincerity. His hips are rolling as he tries to take Nate deeper with every stroke. Body language alone is a clue that he doesn't give a shit about getting caught, even if he knows Nate would never live it down.

There's something about the grit teeth and brilliant glare he gets for those useless protests that really does it for him. Nathan snarling, "Don't care anymore," through grit teeth is as much an ego boost as it is an aphrodisiac, and given that he's all but fucking Wade through the stall door with single-minded vigor, Wade could almost believe he means the words. Wade's back slides against the slats where the top of his costume is rucked up and the skin is exposed and sweaty, and the door rattles alarmingly in it's frame with every jerk of Nathan's hips. "Gettin' tired of hiding this."

Wade groans, his head lolling back helplessly; the heat of Nathan rocking up into him is heavy and unrelenting, burning with awful friction as it pushes muscle too far too fast, where the too-quick lube job doesn't quite serve its function proper. Sweat is pooling around his collarbones and his top is worked up over his chest far enough to expose his nipples, shoved into his armpits, but he's pretty goddamn certain when he cums, it's going to get all over the front anyway, and how the fuck is he going to clean _ that _up --

A corner of Nate's mouth just barely quirks up, like he can read Wade's mind. Cheating asshole maybe can in this continuity, who the fuck knows? It's not like his powers wee ever consistent in the comics. "Shouldn't have been such a teasing whore," he growls, breath ghosting hot against Wade's chest before teeth close on a nipple, biting hard like he's punishing him.

It's all Wade can do not to scream.

Nathan's strong but the logistics of this are a real stretch, so Wade's having to take some of his own weight himself, hands clamped to the top of the high door behind him and legs braced against Nate's shoulders as he's bent in half against the stall. Which is, of course, why he can't move his fucking arms, why no one's touching his leaking, aching cock, why he feels like Nathan's trying to core his brains out with a dick in his ass. The only option for relief would be to let go of the door, which would most likely send them both crashing to the floor and end all the really good, sweaty, not-quite-enough-but-certainly-too-good-to-stop stuff that's happening here. 

All of that comes together to mean Wade's got no real choice but to squirm and writhe, gasping and whining as he angles desperately for friction against Nate's stomach. Nathan, of course, stays infuriatingly out of reach as he slows back down to the tormenting slow, deep rock. 

The sound that bursts out of Wade is a little too much like a sob for comfort.

Why the bastard won't just use his telekinesis to hold Wade up so he can take care of himself, Wade doesn't know. It's unfair, it's probably unconstitutional, it's downright fucking _ rude_, and he says so.

"No touching," is the snarling reply that gets, Nathan leaning in close enough to send a burn of stress through the backs of Wade's thigh, growling straight in Wade's ear. He resettles his grip, holding Wade's ass, hitching him up a little higher and taking just a fraction more of Wade's weight than before, which is honestly just mixed signals at this point. The change in angle, though, is superb, letting Wade feel every glorious bit of the long, wet slide of Nathan's thick cock pushing in as deep as he possibly can. "Neither of us, no touching."

Flattering to fuck him so good the sentences he manages are as fragmented and broken as Wade's own thought, but annoying in an terms of actual plan. "Fucking easy for you to say," Wade grouses, eyes closing as he pushes his head back against the door, fighting to ground himself against the onslaught. It's an uphill battle; he hasn't quite been mentally level since Nathan dragged him in here and started shoving at his suit.

The only reply he gets for that is a soft, throaty little noise, somewhere between dismissal and amusement, as Nate stops moving entirely, mid-thrust. It can't be comfortable for him, it's _ certainly _not comfortable for Wade; it's terrible and cruel and everything from the tremor in Nathan's arms to the thickness of his dick wedged not nearly far enough in Wade makes Wade want to whimper. There's a hundred eager entreaties he'd give at this point, but the nonsense tumbling out of his mouth contains none of them, because he knows better than to actually say please out loud to this jackass. 

Give him an inch, he immediately demands a fucking mile, absolutely the _ worst _sidekick Wade's ever heard of. 

All Wade can really do is squirm and wriggle where he's pinned and try to get what he needs, and then Nathan's hands tighten on him, holding him perfectly still. "Ask nice," he demands, eyes flinty but voice thin, wavering on the edges because he's not nearly as in control as he's pretending. Wade knows by the tension in those fingers and the tightness of those lips pressed together, the deep furrow of Nate's brow, that it's only a monumental force of will keeping Nate from pushing forward. 

Just as bad as Wade wants more, Nate wants to give it, he wants to take what's up on offer here in this tiny, private space between their everyday discretion and the typical emotional distancing of their nighttime fun. The impulse to just give in, to just _have _what he wants, it plain in those mismatched eyes, hungry and brutal.

Wade reckons that maybe this is a first for this bred-into-war super soldier of the future, this half-assed exhibitionist shit, and that _ does _ give Wade some kind of shiver, to think that it's with _ him _ that Nathan would do this. That it's something to do with _Wa__de _that gets under the old man's skin and makes him crazy enough to forget they're on the clock here.

Thick fingers grip his mask, dragging it off the rest of the way at an uncomfortable angle, so Wade's unable to hide, unable to disguise how this is affecting him. There's drool slicking his chin and tears welled up in his eyes, and he licks his lips as he meets Nate's eyes.

"C'mon," Nate growls. "Just this once, ask nice. Make up for bein' a fuckin' --"

Yeah, no. Not a chance in hell, not when Nate was the one needy enough to drag them in here in the first place, not when Nate was the one who had been absolutely jack-hammering Wade with his eyes since they'd blown their way into this shit-pit. 

Somewhere, Wade finds the presence of mind to grin crookedly, calling the bluff without a word as he shifts his grip on the door. Nate's too far gone to last on a waiting game, too visibly invested in his orgasm to even pretend convincingly at this point. "Oh, you wanna play _ this _ game," Wade asks innocently, bearing down and tightening on Nate's cock, meeting those eyes with his own fever-bright glare. "I don't _ love _ this game, but I _ am _ fucking _ good _at it."

That ugly, stupid fucking infinity scarf is hanging loose and crooked around Nate's neck, the trailing hem of it skating over the bare skin of Wade's abs. That fabric is cool and soft and indulgently smooth, setting fire to every nerve as it tickles across Wade's flesh. An inch lower and that ghost of a touch would be on Wade's leaking cock, and that shouldn't sound so good, but it does.

When Wade tightens up again, Nate grimaces and bites his lip, struggling to keep himself from bucking into that irresistible heat.

"D'you think you could just --"

"Shut the fuck up, Wade," Nathan snarls, all growling and huffy on the edge of this very personal defeat. 

Wade wouldn't stop the smile that forms if he could. "Well, You know. If you're done, I may as well get down --"

The words barely leave him, and he doesn't have to move even a little, and Nate slams up into him, fast and unforgiving. The angle is not quite right, good but not perfect, but the victory of winning out against Nate's bullshit is pleasure enough to make up for it. Barely a tease and Nate's got him pinned up against that shuddering wood door, denying any chance of escape, but _ Wade’s _the one with impulse control issues. Uh-huh, yeah, sure.

Resuming that heavy, hard pace from before, Nathan starts groaning these short, tight breaths, fury etched into his features at having lost. It's clearly hard for him to hold on to that rage, though; the look fractures and falls away with every creak of the door in its frame.

The back of Wade's head hits the paneling again; he lets it roll from side to side in renewed frustration as Nate comes so fucking close to nailing him perfectly that the tease of it should be considered criminal. Wade's close now, close enough that he thinks if Nate stops again or the fucking bathroom door opens, he'll -- well, he's not completely certain on that part yet, but he certainly won't goddamn well stop.

"You actually afraid of getting caught?" Nate asks, breathy, shifting his hold to one side, freeing one hand so he can finally, finally wrap his fingers around Wade's dick, wring it up to push the leaking tip against Wade's stomach. His hand is so rough and so hot, textured just right for Wade's tastes, and the establishment of a rhythm soon has Wade incoherently noisy again.

There's going to be fingernail marks all over the top of the door's finish before this is over, and Wade screws his eyes shut and twists desperately into that grip as he shakes his head. "God," he gasps out, a little huff of laughter escaping as he tries to find words. "No, I'm not."

"Really?"

A bubbling, broken laugh is all Wade can manage in the space between far less articulate noises, disbelieving as he drives himself into the thrusts, shifting a little more into Nate's current hold to get just the right angle. Maybe it's the laugh, maybe it's his ceaseless writhing, but Nate snarls and hauls up into him particularly hard, and that's it for Wade. He seizes up against the wood, arching into Nathan's touch, and cums hard between them. 

There's not much more in either of them after that, and what there is is artless and impossibly good, Nathan grinding in deep a few strokes more before cumming buried deep. In the dizzy, humming aftermath, Wade keeps his grip on the door and stays right where he is while Nathan leans in close to press his forehead against the door, his own composure forfeited. 

"Yeah really," Wade says a few moments later, dumped unceremoniously on the cold tile of the floor, legs and arms like jelly. He's fully aware he looks like the worst kind of slutty bar-bathroom hookup, bottom half of his suit tangled up over his boots and tits still out, cum leaking out of him while he sprawls on a dirty floor; he doesn't care. It's not like Nathan's doing much better, sitting with his fatigues open on the toilet, dick soft and glistening. 

Wade gets a look for his words, one brow hiked up into a high arch, and part of him wants to punch the asshole for questioning it, the rest is kind of flattered that Nathan should even give him the chance to convince him. 

"You think I didn't know exactly what you wanted when you shoved me in here? We just killed like a hundred dudes, totally wiped this place out, and you _ still _locked the door." Wade grins, amused but not enough to keep from being a smart ass. "Or was I not supposed to notice that?"

Nate just stares, some vague flicker of curiosity visible under the lethargy of endorphin overload as he watches Wade climb carefully to his feet and set his costume to rights. He only flinches a little when Wade slides into his lap and snugs his head onto one broad shoulder. 

When Wade presses a little kiss by his ear, he twitches, and then that beautiful metal hand presses carefully against the small of Wade's back, keeping him there. "I trust you, dipshit," Wade says quietly, and smiles at the almost-laugh he gets as Nate pulls him a little closer, holding him tight.


End file.
